Before the excitement had properly subsided, I was in the little room
at the back of the court with Gordon and Inspector Neil. The latter
closed the door, shutting out the confused murmur which we had left
behind us.
"It's not my place to congratulate you, sir," he observed
apologetically, "but I should like to do so if you will allow me."
"Why, of course, Inspector," I said, with a smile. "I don't wonder
you suspected me on the evidence you had. It looked like a
certainty."
He shook his head. "It's an amazing case, sir; but to tell you the
truth, I thought we'd made--a mistake in the charge the minute I'd
arrested you." He crossed the room to the door on the other side.
"This room will be at your disposal, if you wish to talk things over.
I must see what further steps our people propose to take."
"Let me add my congratulations," said Gordon, as soon as we found
ourselves alone.
I gripped the hand he offered me. "Thanks," I said. "I'm very much
obliged to you for all the trouble you've taken."
He smiled in his curious languid manner. "There is no reason to be
grateful to me," he replied. "It was your amazing butler who took
over the defence. I have never had a case in which I've been quite
so superfluous."
As he spoke, my fears about Billy and Mercia, which had momentarily
lapsed in the excitement of my acquittal, rushed back on me with
redoubled force.
"Mr. Gordon," I said, "I may want your help more than ever now.
Something has happened to Miss Solano. Billy was to have called for
her and brought her to the court, and neither of them have turned up."
"I know," he answered quickly. "But don't be too alarmed about it.
I've had a very good man watching the house since yesterday morning;
and unless Preston's quite wrong, Guarez and the others are lying up
somewhere in the East End. They'd hardly dare--"
"It's not Guarez I'm afraid of," I interrupted: "it's Sangatte."
"Lord Sangatte!" he echoed in surprise.
"Yes," I said. Then I remembered that in telling him my story, I had
been rather sparing with my account of the interview in Sangatte's
study.
"He's in love with her," I added, "in his own way, and I've good
reasons for knowing that it's a pretty poisonous one."
The words had hardly left my lips when there came a sharp knock at
the door, and a police serjeant entered the room.
"There are two gentlemen, sir, who wish to see you and Mr. Gordon
immediately. Shall I show them in here?"
"Yes, yes," I said. Then, turning to Gordon, I added eagerly: "It's
Billy and your man. It must be."
The serjeant stepped forward and held out a small twisted note.
"Very good, sir," he said. "And there's this letter. I was asked to
hand it to you by a lady who was in court."
I took the note. A glance showed me that it was addressed in Lady
Baradell's writing, and I thrust it into my pocket without further
consideration. I had no thoughts now for anyone but Mercia.
My first sight of Billy as he entered told me that there were grounds
for my anxiety. His face was pale and his mouth set in that peculiar
steel-trap fashion which in his case always heralds something in the
nature of a tight corner. He was followed by a small, dark,
sharp-featured man in a blue suit.
"Much wrong, Billy?" I asked quietly.
"Sangatte's got hold of Mercia," he said, speaking a little hoarsely.
"We're after them in a motor now. I think we shall be in time."
Before I could get out a word, Gordon's voice broke in harsh and cold.
"What does this mean, Wilton?"
The dark man was just going to answer when Billy stepped forward and
cut him short.
"Mr. Gordon," he said, "we've no time to explain now. You must let
me take Wilton. Miss Solano has been carried off to Lord Sangatte's
yacht at Burnham. I'm following them in a car which I've got
outside, and I want a man with me who won't stick at trifles."
"And by God you shall have it!" I cried, with a savage laugh. Then,
seeing his look of astonishment, I added quickly: "I'm free,
Billy--the case is over. Milford turned up at the last minute with
proofs that it was Da Costa."
With a low exclamation of surprise and satisfaction he gripped me by
the arm.
"Is that right, Jack? Lord! but it's good news. Get your hat, man,
and come at once. I'll explain it all in the car."
"Damn the hat!" I cried, snatching up a dusty-looking cap from the
table. "I'm ready, Billy."
"Go with them, Wilton," broke in Gordon sharply. Then turning to me
he added in an encouraging tone: "If it's a case of forcible
abduction, you're justified in anything short of murder."
"I'm glad to hear it," I said grimly.
"And don't worry about all this business," he went on, jerking his
head towards the court. "I'll look after your interests here. Just
send a wire to the house if you're coming back to town to-night."
I nodded--I think my face showed my thanks--and in another moment we
had hurried down the corridor and were outside the building.
In the roadway stood a powerful Rolls-Royce with an
embarrassed-looking chauffeur at the wheel. It was already
surrounded by a crowd of spectators, while the stream of people
coming out from the main entrance was adding momentarily to the
congestion.
Billy elbowed his way through with scant ceremony and opened the door
of the car.
"You come in with me, Jack," he said. "Wilton will go in front."
The next minute we had glided down the street and twisted noiselessly
round the corner into the roar and traffic of the Strand.
Billy didn't wait for me to question him. "It was this way, Jack,"
he said quietly. "I went round this morning to fetch Mercia at
half-past ten as I'd arranged yesterday. When I rang the bell and
asked for her, the servant said she'd gone out directly after
breakfast. Well, I didn't worry much: I thought that perhaps she'd
had some shopping or something to do first, and that she'd be coming
back in a minute or two, so I said I'd call again in a quarter of an
hour. I was just turning away when a taxi ran up alongside of me,
and who should jump out but our friend Wilton here. I knew who he
was--I'd met him at Gordon's yesterday--and I could see at once from
his face that something was devilish wrong. The first thing he asked
me was whether Mercia had come back. When I said no, he looked more
worried than ever, and in about two minutes I'd made him choke up the
whole story.
"It seems Mercia had come out of the house about half-past nine.
Wilton, who'd been told by Gordon not to lose track of her on any
account, followed her as far as Sangatte's house in Belgrave Square.
She reached there at a quarter to ten, and he'd hung about outside
for the best part of half an hour. Then suddenly Sangatte's motor
rolled up to the door, and Sangatte himself came out with Mercia and
got inside. Of course there wasn't a taxi handy, and before Wilton
could find one the car was out of sight. It struck him as just
possible that Sangatte might merely be seeing Mercia home, so he'd
come along back to find out."
Billy paused for a moment as the Rolls-Royce, dexterously steered by
its driver, wormed its way across the crowded Mansion House Corner.
With my heart full of anxiety and torn with a murderous anger, I
waited for him to continue.
"I guessed something of what had happened," he went on as the car
turned off down Aldgate. "I knew Mercia had heard Sangatte mentioned
in court as being one of the principal witnesses for the police, and
it struck me at once that he'd probably used this fact to get her to
come and see him. Nothing but the idea of helping you would have
taken her to his house--I felt sure of that. The thing to find out,
of course, was what particular dirty game he was trying to play. I
chewed it over for a minute, and then it seemed to me that the best
thing to do was to go to his house and see when he was expected back.
Wilton agreed with me, so we jumped into the cab and ran down to
Belgrave Square. His butler answered the door,--a white-faced,
cunning-looking sort of skunk,--and when I asked for Sangatte, he
said he was out of town. He wouldn't tell me any more at
first--declared that he 'didn't know where his lordship was or which
day he intended to return'; and when I pressed him a bit, he was half
inclined to be cheeky. I saw the only way was to bribe him. He
looked like the sort of man who'd sell his mother, so I told him
straight out it would be worth a tenner to him if I could find
Sangatte before the evening. With that he started to bargain. I
suppose he guessed that it was Mercia I was after, and that I
couldn't afford to break his neck--anyway, he stuck out for a pony,
and of course I had to give it him. Then I got the truth--at least,
I think so. Sangatte, he said, had gone off yachting for three or
four days, and my only possible chance of catching him was at
Burnham-on-Crouch, where his boat was lying."
"Billy!" I interrupted, rather desperately. "Do you mean that Mercia
is alone on board with that brute?"
Billy laid his hand on my arm. "They're only two hours ahead of us,
Jack," he said, "and it takes some time to get a boat of any size
under way."
"But what does it all mean?" I broke out. "What devil's trick can he
have played to get Mercia to Burnham? She knows--"
"It's my belief," interrupted Billy, "that she had no idea the car
was going there. Suppose he got her round to the house on the
pretence of giving evidence about you, and then offered to drive her
down to the court. It's only an idea, of course, but it's in keeping
with what one knows about Sangatte, and it fits in with the facts.
Once in the car, it would be impossible for her to escape until they
got to Burnham; and what could a girl do then against two or three
men? No doubt Sangatte's certain of his own crew."
With a bitter oath, I brought down my clenched fist on the side of
the car.
"If you're right, Billy," I said slowly, "I'll make Sangatte sorry he
was born."
There was a short silence, as the car swung on through the dreary
purlieus of Stratford at a pace which brought belated shouts and
curses from the carmen and hawkers that we left behind.
"Go on, Billy," I said, staring out in front of us. "Talk to me, for
God's sake, or I shall go mad. Tell me how you got hold of the car."
"Hired it," said Billy. "I saw at once that if this butler skunk was
speaking the truth, the only thing to do was to make a run for
Burnham. I thought of your car at first; then it struck me there
might be a bit of a bother getting hold of it, so I drove straight
down to Garrett's in Bond Street and ordered a Rolls-Royce. They
took about ten minutes getting it ready, and while they were messing
about I sent Wilton round in the taxi to make certain Mercia hadn't
gone home. Then we came right along to Bow Street to let you know
how things stood before we started for Burnham."
He paused and, bending down, lighted a cigarette.
"I never dreamed, of course, of the case being over," he added.
"Tell me something about it, old son: it's better than sitting there
thinking. We're doing all we can, you know, Jack."
I was glad of the chance he gave me. Anything was preferable to
brooding over the thought of Mercia in the hands of Sangatte; so
without waiting I plunged into the story of Milford's dramatic
appearance in court and its amazing developments.
Through Romford and Brentwood the car sped on: the driver, who knew
something of the extreme urgency of our journey, letting out the
powerful engine to the full extent he dared. Outside the latter
town, we turned off due east, and, free of the traffic, hurried on
still faster through the miles of flat Essex corn-land that separated
us from our goal.
I repeated to Billy the whole of Milford's story, as nearly as I
could remember it. With his numerous questions and interruptions it
took a long time--indeed, before I had finished we had already
reached the straggling estuary of the Crouch, and the grey tower of
Burnham Church was plainly visible in the distance. I shall never
forget the fever of anger and impatience that seemed to scorch my
heart as the driver turned to point it out.
Every minute of that last three miles the torture of suspense became
worse. I could see Billy felt the strain almost as much as I did.
His mouth set more grimly than ever, and we sat there side by side
staring out silently towards our approaching goal.
At last we were in the village. Scarcely slackening our pace, we
hurried up the long main street with its small, untidy-looking grey
houses, and turning off sharp to the right swung round on to the
quay. Regardless of his tyres, the driver pulled up with a jerk, and
in a moment Billy and I were out of the car.
An old longshoreman in a blue jersey, who had been leaning over the
railings staring down at the tossing collection of boats and yachts
below, looked round with slow surprise at our abrupt appearance.
I walked towards him, followed by Billy.
"Can you tell me," I asked quietly, "whether the _Seagull_ has
sailed?"
He took out a small section of black clay pipe which he had been
holding upside down in his mouth, and spat thoughtfully on the ground.
"The _Seagull_?" he repeated. "That'd be the schooner as came in
last Tooseday--name o' Sangatte?"
I nodded.
He turned towards the broad estuary, and shading his eyes with his
hand stared out to sea.
"There she be," he said at last, pointing down the river.
With a horrible sinking sensation at my heart, I followed the line of
his finger. About a mile out a smart-looking vessel of perhaps a
hundred and fifty tons was running swiftly seawards before the fresh
westerly breeze.
"That's 'er right enough," said the old man. "Put out 'bout one
o'clock, she did. The owner come down in a moty-car--same as you
gentlemen."
"Was he alone?" I asked, still hoping faintly that we might be
mistaken.
The old man shook his head. "'E 'ad a young lady with 'im--bit ill
she seemed, too. I see'd 'im 'elping 'er to the boat."
I think I knew then what natives mean when they talk about "seeing
red." Before I could crush back my fury sufficiently to speak, Billy
broke in.
"Is there any faster boat in the harbour?" he cried. "We've got an
important letter for the owner, and money's no object if we can catch
her before she gets to sea."
The man removed his cap and scratched his head with maddening
deliberation.
"There ain't no sailing boat in Burnham as'll overtake her now," he
observed slowly. "That's the only craft as could do it--that there
petrol launch what come in this morning."
He pointed down to a rakish-looking little decked-in vessel which was
bobbing about on the tide just below where we were standing.
"Who does it belong to?" I demanded sharply.
"Well, I don't know--not in a manner of speaking," drawled the old
man. "A stout, youngish gen'l'man 'e be. I did 'ear tell that 'e
come from Woodford. If you're wanting to see him, as like as not
you'll pick 'im up at the hotel." He turned to point to the building
in question, and then gave a sudden exclamation. "Why, there be the
gen'leman 'isself, sir, over by the lamp-post there."
I looked up, and my heart gave a sudden jump. In the
square-shouldered, pleasant-faced man strolling slowly along the quay
I recognised an old acquaintance. It was my friend Cumming the
story-writer, the man whom I had met in the Bull Hotel when I was
staying at Ashton.
Without stopping to explain to Billy, I strode quickly across the
road to meet him. He recognised me at once, and raised his hand in
greeting.
"How do you do?" he said, with a smile. "I hope you found Barham
Bridge all right?"
I pulled up in front of him and looked him squarely in the eyes.
"Mr. Cumming," I said, "you did me a good turn that day. Will you do
me another--a much more important one now?"
He paused for a moment, looking back at me as though to make certain
I was serious. My expression must have shown him there could be no
doubt about that.
"What is it?" he asked quietly.
I turned and pointed to the _Seagull_. "The woman I love is on board
that boat," I said hoarsely. "She has been drugged and carried off
by Lord Sangatte. There's just one chance of catching them--your
petrol launch. If you could get us up alongside, we'd do the rest.
I don't know how many men he has on board, but there are three of us,
and--"
"I say," he broke in, with shining eyes, "are you pulling my leg?"
I shook my head with a rather wan smile.
"Oh, but this is delightful!" he said. Then, seeing my face, he
added politely: "I didn't mean that, of course; but I've been
spending years writing about abductions and murders and things of
that sort, and this is the first real adventure I've ever been mixed
up in."
"And you'll take us?" I cried.
"Take you!" he echoed. "Good Lord--rather! I wouldn't miss such a
chance for the world."
Billy, who had come up in time to catch the last remark, clapped him
unceremoniously on the shoulder.
"I don't know who you are, my son," he said, "but you're a man, and
the breed's rare. Shake."
Cumming, who seemed to understand Billy at once, smilingly gripped
hands, and the next minute we were all three hurrying towards the
steps which led down to the water. Leaving the car, Wilton and the
chauffeur came running along the quay to join us.
"Got room for me, guv'nor?" inquired the latter anxiously.
"What about the car?" I asked, as Cumming, jumping into a dinghy,
hastily pulled out the sculls from under the seat.
He grinned cheerfully. "Car's all right, sir. I've given the old
boy five bob to look after her."
"Come on, then," I said; "the more the better." And without wasting
any more time, we all five scrambled into the boat.
A few strokes brought us alongside the launch, to which we rapidly
transferred ourselves. Cumming at once squatted down in front of the
motor and began to play with the levers and switches, while the rest
of us distributed our weight about the little craft in the most even
fashion possible.
"Shall I steer her out for you, sir?" asked the chauffeur. "I've
done a bit of this work over in France."
Cumming nodded his consent, and as the man gripped the tiller he
started up the engine. The next moment we were swiftly threshing our
way through the crowd of anchored vessels towards the centre of the
estuary.
Directly we were fairly under way, and the engine was running with
proper smoothness, Cumming scrambled to his feet and took over the
charge of the boat.
"She can do twenty easy," he observed, with a satisfied chuckle; "we
shall be up to them before they're past the sands." Then he paused.
"What's the programme?" he added. "Hail them, or run up alongside
and jump?"
"Can you take her in as close as that?" I asked.
"I could take her to hell," he replied cheerfully, "if there was
enough water. The only thing is, can you chaps get on board?"
Billy laughed grimly. "Some of us will," he said, "and the others
can swim."
With a white curve of water foaming away from either bow, the little
vessel ran on down the centre of the river. Far ahead of us, a
beautiful picture in the cloudless afternoon sunshine, the _Seagull_
swept forward on her way towards the sea. Crouched in the bows, I
stared silently out over the long grey stretch of intervening water,
which every minute was perceptibly lessening in distance.
Billy, who had been rummaging in the tool-chest, which Cumming had
pointed out to him, crept forward and held out a heavy steel bar.
"Here you are, Jack," he said. "You freeze on to this. I've got a
gun."
I took the short but deadly little weapon and thrust it into my side
pocket. I felt somehow that my fists would be all that I should want.
"Billy," I said, "if we both get on board together, leave Sangatte to
me."
He nodded. "That'll be all right," he replied. "There'll be quite
enough fun for me with the rest of the crew; you shall have his
lordship all to yourself." Then he paused and looked out at the
stern of the _Seagull_, now no more than half a mile distant. "Don't
you think, Jack," he added, "that you'd better go down into the
cabin, just in case Sangatte's on the watch? If he spotted you, he'd
guess we meant mischief at once, and we might find it a bit of a job
to get on board. You can pop out as we run alongside."
Billy's suggestion was so obviously a sensible one that although I
was loth to quit the deck, I immediately adopted it. It would never
do for Sangatte to see me in the boat, for the _Seagull_ stood so
much higher out of the water than our own little craft that our only
chance of boarding her was to take the crew by surprise. So into the
cabin I went, where I found the impassive Wilton, who seemed to
consider the whole business as part of his ordinary day's work,
stretched out peacefully on the bunk.
He sat up as I crawled in; but beyond exchanging a couple of remarks
as to the quickness with which we were overtaking our quarry, we
neither of us made any attempt at conversation. I was in too keen a
state of suspense to talk; while Wilton, I should think, was a
naturally taciturn person even for a detective. Anyhow, we sat there
in silence, listening to the throbbing of the engine and the
ceaseless swish of the water as it raced past the side of the boat.
How long our vigil lasted I can't say. It was broken at last by the
appearance of Billy, who dropped down into the little well outside
the cabin and thrust his head in through the door.
"We're just coming up alongside of 'em," he said, in a tone of quiet
satisfaction. "There are three men on deck, but they don't seem to
suspect anything."
"Sangatte?" I asked eagerly.
He shook his head. "No sign of him or Mercia; they must be down
below."
I rose to my feet, followed by Wilton.
"We three are to make the first shot," went on Billy. "Cumming's
going to run her alongside suddenly, and we must jump for the rails.
One ought to be just able to do it from the cabin top."
"And then?" I asked; for I knew Billy would have planned the whole
thing out.
He tapped his pistol pocket with a contented smile. "Then it will be
up to me to keep order on deck while you and Wilton go below and rout
out Mercia. The chauffeur's staying in the boat. He wanted to stick
to us, but we must have someone to help Cumming."
He swung himself out of the well on to the narrow deck, and Wilton
and I followed suit. We were running level with the _Seagull_ at a
distance of about thirty yards. The three men on her deck were not
paying much attention to us. One of them was steering--the other two
busy attending to the coiling of some loose rope. At the tiller of
our own boat sat Cumming--a cigarette in his mouth, and his eyes
fixed innocently on the water ahead.
Suddenly, and without shifting his gaze, he gave a quick, faint
little whistle. Billy and I and Wilton leaped on to the cabin top,
and at the same instant the launch swerved inwards towards the
_Seagull_ like a weasel darting on a rabbit. I heard a cry of dismay
and surprise from the man who was steering as he shoved down his helm
in a frantic effort to avoid a collision. At the very last moment,
just when the crash seemed inevitable, Cumming again swerved, and as
he did so we all three made one frantic jump for the _Seagull's_
rails.
I missed with my left hand, and my other arm seemed to be almost
wrenched from its socket with the shock. I clung on, though, and the
next moment soaked and half blinded with spray, I was scrambling on
to the deck. A swift glance round showed me that both Billy and
Wilton had been equally successful.
Paralysed, apparently, at the suddenness of our onslaught, the two
men who had been coiling the rope made no attempt to stop us until we
were fairly on board. Then, as I leaped for the companion-way, they
both dashed forward with a volley of questions and oaths. Only one
of them reached me in time, and he got a smack in the jaw for his
pains that sent him spinning against the rails. At the same moment
Billy's voice, backed doubtless by his revolver, rang out in a harsh
command, and the other stopped short and flung up his hands.
Without waiting for any further developments, I dropped down the
companion, clearing the short ladder with one jump. There was a door
in front of me--a white cabin door with brass fittings. I seized the
handle and flung it savagely open, just as Wilton's figure appeared
in the opening above.
Do you remember that hideous picture of "The Startled Robber" in
Hogarth's "Two Apprentices"? It flashed into my mind then as, pale
with amazement, terror, and rage, Sangatte started up at my entrance.
He had evidently been sitting at the table, smoking and drinking, for
there was a bottle of brandy and a half-empty siphon in front of him,
and the air was thick with the fumes of his cigar.
The same glance that revealed his glaring, terrified eyes also showed
me Mercia. She was on the sofa at the farther end of the cabin,
crouching against the wall like some beautiful, desperate animal at
bay. At the sight of me her face lit up with a joy too wonderful for
words, and she too sprang to her feet, crying out my name.
Then, silent as a wolf, I flung myself on Sangatte.
He seized the bottle of brandy by the neck, and struck at me wildly
as I came in. I dashed it aside with my left arm, and the broken
glass and liquor showered over us both. The next moment, locked in
each other's arms, we swayed clear of the table and crashed heavily
against the opposite wall of the cabin.
He was a powerful man, nearly as big as myself, and fighting with the
fury of absolute terror; but his strength was as nothing against my
own mad rage. Freeing my right arm with a desperate wrench, I drove
my fist full in his face, and I felt the bone and cartilage yield
under my knuckles as if they had been made of crisp wafer. He
clutched me by the throat, but at that smashing blow his grip
relaxed, and a horrible stifled cry burst from his lips. With a
supreme effort, I lifted him clear off his feet and flung him full
length on the cabin floor.
There came a long-drawn, gasping sigh from Mercia.
"A--ah!"
I looked up--my chest heaving, my face and clothes soaked in blood
and brandy.
"Shall I kill him?" I asked quietly.
Mercia came forward--her dear face as white as death, but her eyes
shining proudly and serenely.
"There is no need to kill him," she said softly. "You are always in
time."
With a low, happy cry I caught her to my heart, and all blood-stained
as I was, she put her arms round me and pressed her lips to mine.